Fear Factor
by Alicia Evilstone
Summary: A new villain arrives in Gotham under the guise of the Scarecrow. Now Terry is trapped in personal hell and must overcome his worst nightmares to defeat him. Read & review!
1. A Savage Legacy

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Batman Beyond: Fear Factor  
By Alicia Evilstone

CHAPTER 1

A Savage Legacy

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DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman Beyond or any characters within. Perhaps I may have modified some old characters a little, but all are still created by and the property of the good folks at DC Comics.

* * * *

The sun falls slowly over the horizon as it shines golden light over the evening skyline. Busy businesspeople hurry home to whatever loved ones they have and push past the energetic teenagers hungry for fun and excitement. As the light begins to fade the downtown part of Gotham transmogrifies from a place of commerce and into a wild rave.

In the crowd Max and Terry try to push through and are lost in a sea of dancing bodies. They have to jump over heads to see one another. It doesn't matter that it's a school night, the street is packed. Everyone who is anyone and the nobodies as well is there. All of them are gathered to see this one marvelous sight.

"There it is," says Max nudging Terry's arm. "Ashtoreth's Lair, the hottest new arcade in town. It's become more popular than most night clubs, and the games are so intense like you would not believe."

"I have been out of the loop," says Terry. "I didn't know this place even existed."

"Where have you been? Locked in a cave?" Terry smiles at Max knowingly. "Oh yeah, I almost forgot. You have your _night duties_."

Terry checks his watch. "Speaking of which, I don't have too long before I have to go to work."

"Come on." Max drags Terry to the front entrance. "It'll be fun. This is virtual reality as you've never seen it before. Cutting edge technology way ahead of the market. Trust me, it is _so_ exciting!"

He shrugs, relenting to Max's prompts. "I get enough excitement as it is, but what the hey? How often do I get to spend with my friends outside of school anymore?"

"Nathan!" Max calls out to the front of the line where a young man in his early twenties with long black dreadlocks seems to recognize her. He smiles and waves for them to come to the front of the line. She accepts without hesitation.

"Max! It's been so long since I last saw you!" Nathan throws his arms around her for a friendly hug, then backs away to inspect her. "Wow, you've really grown up since last I saw you. And who's your friend? Care to introduce us?"

"Nathan, this is Terry McGuiness. Terry, this is…"

"…Nathan Hall," he interrupts offering his hand to Terry. "Pleased to meet you. Welcome to Ashtoreth's Lair with my compliments."

Terry tilts his head for a moment, then he remembers. "Wait… Nathan Hall? Hamilton High valedictorian three years ago?"

"The one and only," he adds holding up his hair. "A lot has changed, hasn't it? You'd be surprised how little being a school leader means out in the big, bad world."

Max tries to pull Terry inside, though he seems reluctant to budge. "Come on, Terry. Let's go and check the place out."

He checks his watch again. "Maybe some other time, Max. If I don't hurry now I'm going to be late."

"Let him go," Nathan reassures her. "Terry can come back any time he wants. Though right now it looks like he has some place to be."

"Alright," she relents. "You owe me one, McGuiness."

Terry waves good-bye to them and sprints his way to the car. He yells back, "At this rate, Max, I'm going to owe you about a million!"

"Nice kid," says Nathan.

* * * *

The Batmobile cuts through the night sky at supersonic speed. All that's below are trees whizzing by at an incredible pace. Quickly the Dark Knight approaches the first destination assigned to him on this evening's mission: Arkham Asylum.

Although he's never been there before Terry has heard horrific stories of what went on behind those walls. Most of those tales came back from a golden age when his predecessor still wore the mantle of the bat. Now instead of lunatics he has only spirits of the past to deal with. He can't decide which is worse.

"So what am I doing here again?" The Batman makes sure his mission is clear and spelled out in case the walls overwhelm him going in.

"To visit a Joker," Bruce tells him over the headset. "The oddly named 'Marco Polo', also known to some in his group as 'Video-Head'."

"So what's his damage that he should wind up in here?" Up ahead he can see the gothic mansion fast approaching. He doesn't look forward to what he has to face in there, but he's the Batman and he has a job to do.

"Just today he broke out into a massive fit in the middle of the City Square, screaming and thrashing about and nobody knows why. Doctors at the General Hospital say they can find nothing physically wrong with him, so they assume that the problem is psychological."

"And now the poor guy winds up in here." Terry is silent, almost sad for him. Then he remembers that this is a Joker he is thinking about. "I take it you think there's something else going on that I should know about it?"

"If you mean do I think there's another sinister force at work influencing his current predicament," says Bruce, "then yes. Similar cases have popped up around Gotham in the past month, but none nearly as severe."

"Don't worry," utters Terry. "We'll get to the bottom of this."

* * * *

"No… thousands of them… get them away! They're all laughing at me… ARGH! Please stop… please stop… I want to go home! There's no way out! …He's under my bed! The Joker is under my bed!…The Joker and an army of clowns are under my bed!"

The irony is amazing, ponders Terry to himself. A mad Joker who is deadly afraid of clowns. Just when he thinks he's seen it all something like this happens to put him in his place again. He could laugh if he didn't feel so sorry for him.

"He's been like this for the past eleven hours," states Dr. Archer coldly from one side of the pen's Plexiglas wall. "He's been heavily medicated and this is as calm as he will be. If we sedate him any more the chances are we could kill him. Needless to say, we have been watching him non-stop."

"What do you suppose could have brought this on, Dr. Archer?" The Batman stands beside him watching the patient with arms folded. The doctor takes off his glasses and massages his furrowed brow.

"It could have been anything from narcotics use…"

"He's been to county," interrupts the Dark Knight. "The doctors said he was clean."

"Yes… well," he continues, "what we could be seeing here is either a severe form of schizophrenia or the result of abnormal brain stimulation. A serious mental disorder like that would explain a lot of things in this young man's choice in lifestyle, however, the latter is difficult to impossible to identify in most patients."

"Any idea as to what he was doing before he was admitted?" Terry sounds cold and calculating, just like Bruce in his earlier detective days.

"I'd have no clue. You'd have to ask his friends about that." Dr. Archer looks up to the Batman sternly. "I must say that this is highly unorthodox. Just what is your interest in this young man? I don't even know why I am talking to you to begin with."

Batman's head turns sharply, as if he heard a sudden noise from somewhere unknown. "Did you hear that?" He bolts down the corridor with others following behind him. Looking out the window he can see a number of large motorcycles charging down the dirt path and into Arkham's main gate. "We have company."

* * * *

A phalanx of motorcycles roars into the open pavilion of the asylum. They ride in circles, knocking down old antique statues and shattering front windows from the yard. From among them come the cackling screams of insane laughter. It echoes into the night with the savage growls of loud engines and the smell of burning rubber.

"Hey, Mr. Arkham," cries out the pack leader defiantly. "Can Marco come out and play? HA HA HA!"

Clowns dash about in a human patchwork of red, white, green and purple. They charge and brake, leaving skid-marks over the tiled yard floor. With every passing moment the court becomes all the more savagely misshaped by this act of youthful lunacy. Another Joker screams out, "Give us Marco, or we'll have to break him out!"

From out of the bushes comes a shadow black hand. It grabs a passing hoodlum by the collar and drags him back to where it came from faster than he can say, "What the f…?"

His empty bike turns and slides along the ground leaving sparks in its wake. It hits a stone corner, and turns, this leaving another bike to collide into it and forcing it's riders to go flying into the air. Both of them land painfully in the shrubbery.

The leader stops and looks around a moment, noticing that their numbers are already quickly thinning. "We're not alone, clowns! We have bat trouble! We must flee and fight again another day!"

Quickly taking heed of his words the other punks turn and begin to accelerate to the nearest exit. All make it except for one. The Batman flies down in his path, and stands frozen like a deer in the headlights. The Joker charges, wanting nothing more than to run the Batman flat.

"Where do you think you're going?" In the space of a heartbeat the Dark Knight is on his feet and into the air. He lands and pounces from the front mudguard and executes a perfectly timed blow to his enemy's jaw.

His half-conscious body hits the ground with a thud while his bike careers into a pillar, then exploding into flame. He is now at the Batman's mercy, and in this situation, his bike is the lucky one.

The black silhouette of the bat towers over him, waiting expectantly for him to rise to his knees. "Who are you," it growls, "and how do you know Marco Polo?"

"I ain't tellin' you nothin', bat!" Blood flows freely from his painted ruby red lip. Impatiently the Batman cracks the bones in his knuckles. The Joker's eyes open widely. "Okay! My name is Punch, and I was Marco's ridin' buddy!"

"What can you tell me about his condition?" The Batman waits with frustration.

"I don't know nothin'," confesses the criminal. "All I know is that the guy at the arcade did it! He said he was going to get us, one way or another!"

"Which guy?" he asks angrily. "Which arcade?"

* * * *

For the second time tonight Terry finds himself back here, at Ashtoreth's Lair, though this time under the guise of his dark alter ego, the Batman. Inside, the place is very impressive with a vast array of machines spread all about facility. They all seem somehow uniform, yet he immediately notices the large array of titles available to choose from.

The room is dark and the machines are dead. Terry can feel his heart racing with dramatic tension. He knows that somewhere is what it is he is looking for, though when he finds it that may be the last thing he ever sees. Deep down he knows that it's a risk he is willing to take for the sake of his job. He asked to be Batman and now he wouldn't trade it for anything, even normality.

All around there is nothing in sight except empty consoles and lifeless VR machines. His infrared detects no heat, so no other person can be in the room with him. Batman stands from his alert crouch and scans the room thoroughly. "It looks like the coast is clear," he says to his mentor.

"Stay on your toes, McGuiness," he is advised. "We don't yet know what it is we're dealing with." The Dark Knight strolls down an empty aisle, searching left and right for the office area. "There. At the right corner ahead of you. That's where Hall's office is."

Terry's face tightens into a menacing frown. "Then I'm going in."

"Looking for someone, Batman?" The mysterious voice's lack of origin is almost disorientating. "I knew you'd come snooping around here sooner or later, so I took the liberty of being prepared."

The Dark Knight spins around to see another black figure standing behind him. He has the same long dreadlocks as Hall, though a metallic skull mask covers his face. His left arm is covered in silver armor plating leading to an artificial claw and in his right hand rests a rather large meat hook.

"I know who you are, Nathan Hall." His opponent seems unimpressed. "Give up now and confess. What did you do to Marco Polo and those other kids?"

"I'm not surprised you know who I am," laughs Hall savagely. "In fact, I anticipated no less from the renowned _world's greatest detective_. As for what I did to those children…"

The villain takes a swipe at the Batman with his hook, as well as a second and a third. Each time he dodges, lunging backwards and then going in for a roundhouse kick. His foe jumps, avoiding the low blow, then sends his fist flying down to the Dark Knight's face. He is blocked. He goes to stab with his other hand, but is also blocked.

"I gave those kids what they wanted. They wanted fun. They wanted an intense challenge. I was willing to give it to them, but to do so they had to pay my price." Hall charges forward, crashing his metal skull into the Batman's face. The next thing Batman can tell is that his nose is bleeding. "You are formidable, Batman. Though I must admit, you are not as hard as I thought you would be."

"I'm not nearly done, Hall," scowls the Batman. "I have a lot more in my bag of tricks to go yet."

"My name is not Hall," he scowls back. "I relinquished that title a long time ago. My name… is the Scarecrow."

"The what?" The Scarecrow raises his arm to the air and stands poised on the verge of another attack. His hand drops and he almost seems to take a graceful bow. The Batman is confused, then he looks behind him to see a large steel bird flying towards him.

The next thing he doesn't know is that he is outcold. Once again it looks like a villain has defeated the new Batman. Now he is helpless at the Scarecrow's grasp.

* * * *

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NEXT ISSUE: Terry undergoes the Scarecrow's VR torture, and if he manages to break free then his life is over. What will he do? Stay tuned for the next chapter of Batman Beyond: Fear Factor.


	2. My Own Personal Hell

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Batman Beyond: Fear Factor  
By Alicia Evilstone

CHAPTER 2

My Own Personal Hell

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DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman Beyond or any characters within. Perhaps I may have modified some old characters a little, but all are still created by and the property of the good folks at DC Comics.

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ENTRY 71105629 : Subject : Dr. Jonathan Crane (a.k.a. the Scarecrow)

Once a professor at Gotham State University, Dr. Jonathan Crane lost his position once the education board found he was performing crude, bizarre experiments on his patients in regard to fear. Having no other choice the board expelled Dr. Crane from the university, leaving the doctor bitter. His first re-appearance was an attempt at destroying the university, though he since moved on and began to use all of Gotham City as his testing ground for his fear serum.

Under the raggedy guise of the "Scarecrow", Crane soon developed a formula for a powerful chemical, which, when used on living subjects in gaseous form, stimulated the biological chemicals for fear within their brain. He has used this method to blackmail and torture, and is his standard modus operandi.

Dr. Crane is now heavy care in a state facility. After years of exposure to his own toxins he has developed long-term symptoms and is now afraid to do absolutely anything himself.

Another sad case of "If you live by the sword, you die by the sword."

* * * *

His eyes slowly open, and before him appears a hazy vision of reality. All he is fully aware of is the pain throbbing inside his head, the rest is barely a blur. He can't hear Bruce calling for him through the headset, he can't comprehend the Scarecrow standing before him wiring cables to the visor resting on his forehead.

Batman tries to move his arms. He can't. Looking he can see that his hands have been restrained by powerful metallic clamps to some sort of large table. The Scarecrow smiles like death, lavishing in the Dark Knight's struggle.

"Welcome back to the real world," he muses. "It's the last time you see it before I introduce you to your worst nightmares."

"You've been out for ten minutes," says Bruce. "It looks as though he's attached you to an advanced type of virtual reality simulator. Terry, if you don't get out now then he's going to bring your darkest fears to life."

"Scare…crow…?" That bird must have hit him harder than he thought. It's difficult and painful to speak.

"Yes, Batman," the rogue says shushing him with a clawed finger. "Enjoy your last moments before I introduce you to your own personal hell."

"What kind of a monster are you?" the Dark Knight spits. His consciousness is finally beginning to get a grip on where he is.

"I guess it's time for an origin story." Batman is silent. The Scarecrow continues to work with his machines as he speaks. "As you can see I've taken on the role originally used by Professor Crane. I am, in a manner of speaking, his student."

From the Batcave, Bruce Wayne listens intently in quiet disgust. What a tragedy it is that a madman like Crane should also have a legacy to pass on.

"It is well known that my natural talent was in computer science," the new Scarecrow continues, "though in all honestly my passion lay in psychology. What made people tick always fascinated me. During the psychology course, which by the way I flunked, one of the subjects we studied was Professor Jonathan Crane, who taught me that the drive of man has always been fear. I learned much from him."

"So you chose to inflict these horrors on unsuspecting kids?" Batman struggles to free his hands so that he can attack this beast of a man, but it is no use.

"The strange thing about fear, Batman, is the adrenaline rush. With fear in your blood you will never feel more alive. That kind of natural high is almost a religious experience," he comments with zeal. "Why else do you suppose they keep coming back for more? They don't want to play games and kill time, they want a new life and a new high. Fear is addictive like a drug. Is that really so wrong?"

"You're insane," he growls back.

"And you," states the Scarecrow matter of factly, "are playing with semantics. Isn't the true insanity in that fact that people go day in and day out without living a single day in their entire lives? This is my gift, Batman. A gift I plan on sharing with the entire world, and not you or anybody else can stop me."

"Terry!" He can hear Bruce scramble from his post hurriedly. Right now both of them seem to be sharing the same sense of alarm.

The Scarecrow's clawed finger encircles a single red button on the control pad, almost as if he were flirting with it. His still mask smiles as if it shares the same hunger for horror as its wearer. "And now, Dark Knight, the real fun begins!"

His finger presses down onto the button and in an instant Terry's world begins to slip away like liquid down a drain. Existence as he knows it begins to die away and in the middle of it is he, still alive, still breathing, completely aware. The nightmare has begun.

* * * *

"Huh?" Terry wakes up with a sudden jolt. His hair is everywhere, his clothes are hung neatly on his bedroom floor… if this is Scarecrow's nightmare world then it leaves a lot to be desired. The only thing he can be afraid of here is his Mom.

He pinches himself, and definitely feels real pain. This is too real to be a dream. Perhaps last night was all a dream. Right now it's too hard to determine. The sun is shining into his cloudy eyes at a far too early seven thirty am. Maybe he'll just go and have some breakfast.

"Hi honey," says his Mom from the kitchen watching her elder son drag himself up from yet another long night. "I was in the mood so I made you boys pancakes for breakfast!"

Matt, Terry's younger brother, turns away from his morning cartoons at the sound of the word 'pancakes'. "Wow, Mom. You nearly never made pancakes."

"Yeah," says Terry drearily. "You usually only cook in the morning when you're worried about something. What's up?"

"Nothing's wrong," she tells him. "It may be politically incorrect, but I can't bear to see my two boys killing themselves every morning on that sugar-frosted garbage you call cereal. It's unhealthy, and the energy it provides is only short-term."

Terry takes a gentle hold of her arm. "Come on, Mom. You're never _this_ diet conscious. I know you too well to think that something's not going on. What is it?"

"Well," she sighs, "Terry, I… was going through your room yesterday…"

Matt laughs. "Ha ha! Bus-ted!"

"Quiet, twip!" Terry raises his hand mockingly, leaving his little brother to fall back laughing. "I know what you're thinking, Mom, but at least it's thinking ahead. Dana and I are trying to be safe and…"

"I was talking about this." Terry's Mom steps out of his room carrying a full black costume with the emblem of a red bat in the center of its chest. Terry and Matt gasp in horror and surprise. "What did you think I was talking about?"

"Terry," Matt addresses him softly. "What are you doing with a Batman costume?"

"Because he is Batman," scowls his mother like a beast. "Night after night he has been going out, fighting in the streets, while we sit here thinking that he's looking after a frail old man!"

"Mom, I…" A cold wind blows, almost numbing his body. Inside he feels like a typhoon is raging and he knows he has let down the people he cares about the most. His heart just collapses.

"No excuses, Terry," she hisses. Her eyes glow red like a savage monster and she grows to gargantuan size. "I've already lost one man in my life who tried to do some good in this world, so don't expect me to cry when I find you dead on my doorstep!"

"Mom, please…" It is futile. His pleas fall on deaf ears as the elements tear the house apart. "I can explain! There's all a very good reason for this!"

Suddenly, all is still again. The family are frozen in the room in black and white as if cut from an empty scene in an old movie. Only Terry is aware. "They will not listen to reason, Batman," comes an all too familiar voice. "They are not made of the same stuff as you and I. They cannot understand the pure joy that comes with instilling fear in the hearts of others…"

"Scarecrow!" The black suited figure struts around the statues. He is covered in a mysterious mist leading to an empty land whose name nobody knows, nor do they care.

"You are so good at remembering my name. Somebody should give you a prize," he laughs. "Oh, but enough of that. We have more pressing matters. Look at these people around you. Who are they?"

"They are my family," Terry tells him. He grinds his teeth and wants to charge, though invisible hands seem to hold him in place. "You won't hurt them…"

"WRONG!" The Scarecrow stares him down, eyeball to eyeball. Under his black mask under a pair of dead green pupils glow from the darkness in his soul. "You are the Batman. You are a child of the night. You have no family. These people are not your loved ones, they are but a pair of statistics."

Again Terry struggles, though his skeleton fights his body from the inside. At one time his body seems to try and implode while also breaking away. "No! Scarecrow! Let them be!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Batman," says the Scarecrow, raising his knife over Terry's mother. "For once and for all you must be taught a lesson, and it seems only I am strong enough to show you the way."

"No! Mom!" Terry cannot bear to watch the blade fall down. He looks away, but he can still feel a warm, red stream flowing under his feet and between his toes. Below him lies the pool of death where his mother lies.

"That was all your fault, Batman," the Scarecrow tells him. "It was your fault for not stopping me."

* * * *

Bruce Wayne knocks on a front door in suburbia. It seems a nice place, white with a picket fence around the side, a freshly cut lawn and a tree in the front yard. This place is almost quaint, though he has no time to admire the setting. Instead he just continues to beat on the door.

A light comes on from inside and a large, bald african-american man opens the front door. He acts frustrated and tired, though not as much as the strange guest at his door. "Can I help you?" he grunts sleepily.

"I presume you are Maxine's father?" He looks inside, trying to determine where her room might be.

"That's right." He is confused. Protectively he stands up tall and crosses his arms, trying to intimidate the old man. "Might I ask what you want with my daughter at this time of night?"

"It's a matter of life and death," he says ignoring the father's act of bravado. "It's important that she come with me right now or else her friend Terry is as good as dead."

"Mr. Wayne?" Max, the girl with the short pink hair looks out from the living room dressed only in a gown and a pair of bunny slippers. "What on Earth are you doing here? What's this I hear about Terry?"

"We haven't much time," rants Bruce. He grabs her arm and drags her to his sleek black car. "I'll explain on the way!"

The father stands in the front threshold, still confused. "MAXINE!"

Max opens up the passenger door and hastily steps inside. "Don't worry, Daddy," she calls out, "everything is going to be fine!"

* * * *

"Who…" asks Terry, "are you?"

The shadowy figure is silent, pausing to let the tension of the moment fully sink in. Terry stares at it like an obsession. Its body is full like a man, tall, strong, yet its shape is so inhuman. "I am Batman," is all it says back.

"Who. Are. You?" He is not satisfied with the answer this demon is giving him. His curiosity will not be quenched by lies. It is already decided deep inside that he will never give up.

"I am Batman," it responds again. The spirit stares at him, it's small white eyes searing deep into his soul like fiery hot pokers. On some subconscious level, Terry knows it is but a hideous reflection in his mind.

"I am Batman," the young man argues unsurely. Sweat flows from his bruised and bloody brow, stinging the open sores. His heart races like the Flash and his body wants to collapse. Again he states with more confidence, "I am Batman."

"You are unworthy, McGuiness," it seethes. "You are afraid. To be worthy you must cloak yourself in darkness, become like your enemies, strike fear into their hearts. Then you must become greater. Though you cannot face your pain…"

These words are like daggers into his heart. They hold some truth, maybe more than he would ever care to admit, but stubbornly he tries to reject the specter's voice. He swallows his doubts and loudly proclaims his truth. "YOU LIE!"

"Do I lie?" The shadows creep in. The tail ends of the ghost's cape come to life and entangle themselves around Terry's calves. Like a lamb to the slaughter it forces him inside. "Look to yourself and you will know the truth. You will know that I do not lie."

What unspeakable horrors that he encounters within are beyond words. Should doubt, loathing, denial and sorrow ever take a form this would be it as it washes over Terry McGuiness to drown his very spirit. Visions flash over his eyes. His father died being a hero… and now he follows suit. The madness continues, though at what cost? Family, friends and loved ones?

In all his life Terry McGuiness has been to some low places in his own humanity, but never before has he prayed for death. Not like he does now.

* * * *

Another wall falls on his brain like a ten-ton hammer. It is as if he is ripped from one world to another and a new backdrop of reality sets in place. His body automatically shoots up and he struggles for air. The old man's arms hold him firmly in place. "Easy, Terry. Calm down."

"I am not like you!" The Batman leans back and with both feet kicks his mentor across the room. In a bolt he is on his feet and panicking in search for a way of escape. For some reason he cannot seem to remember where he is, or why.

Max steps back in worry. She can't stop Batman, and now Bruce Wayne is heaped on the floor at least twenty feet away. "The machines made you go crazy, Terry! Try and remember who we are!"

His body shakes uneasily, and cautiously he tilts his head trying to determine the person in front of him. Instinct tells him she is another threat, so he has no option but to attack.

"Terry, no!" Bruce leaps, knocking the Dark Knight from his feet. The two of them struggle and roll about grappled to each other. Max feels totally helpless, until she notices a stray crowbar on the floor beside her.

"I'm not like you," screams Terry. "I'll never be like you! I'm not a monster!" Batman, Bruce's former alter ego, grips onto the old man's throat, slowly choking the life out of him. "This ends here and now. Your demons won't be…"

Though he does not finish his rambling. A short, sharp blow to the back of the head makes sure of that. Above Bruce stands Max, weapon still in hand. He smiles and says, "Thank you, Maxine."

"Don't sweat it," she says helping him up. The two them throw the Dark Knight's arms over their shoulders. "Now come on. We have to get out of here before this place blows."

They hurry down the stairs, through the main corridor and out the back alley they entered. With the Batman as dead weight between them their hurrying is nowhere near as fast as it could be. Finally, they make it to the next street under a safe, shielded spot.

Ashtoreth's lair, Gotham's video game heaven, is silent for a final moment. Then, as expectant, it is engulfed in flames, sending glass and debris scattering about through the empty road. Bruce and Max look up from their hiding place, relieved that they managed to make it out even if it was only be a few precious seconds.

Terry groans and rolls his head about. His senses are numbed, and what isn't numb is in constant pain. Inside he burns, he bleeds. For a moment he isn't sure he wants to get up again. Then he sees his friends.

"Max?" he whispers. "Bruce?"

"We're here for you, Terry." He shoots up and wraps his arms around his friend. Tears flow freely from his eyes, and he weeps as if lost in the desert for a lifetime. Now he knows he's home again. Everything is as it was. "It was all just a bad dream…"

Bruce places his hands on Terry's back in the only way he knows how to comfort. Though the fire mainly draws his attention away. The Scarecrow nearly won this battle, and the madness is still not yet over.

* * * *

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NEXT ISSUE: Still shaken from his last encounter with the Scarecrow, Batman must face his enemy once more or else risk seeing Gotham plunged into a world of fear. Stay tuned for the third and final chapter of Batman Beyond: Fear Factor.


	3. Nothing to Fear

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Batman Beyond: Fear Factor  
By Alicia Evilstone

CHAPTER 3

Nothing to Fear

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DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman Beyond or any characters within. Perhaps I may have modified some old characters a little, but all are still created by and the property of the good folks at DC Comics.

* * * *

Bruce steps down the winding corridor, further into the shadows. The bats flutter about the cave with the echoes of his feet on the cold stone floor. He steps into the dim light and towards the computer where for hours on end he stations himself as an advisor to the new Batman.

Meanwhile, on the sick table, Terry McGuiness holds his head in his hands and he tries to breathe normally. Though this seems impossible. Every moment of every second seems to drag on forever, and the cold fear in his bones causes him to shiver uncontrollably. Not hours ago he was, for a time, stripped of everything decent, good and pure left in his life.

"I've called your mother," Bruce tells him. "I told her you were in a minor car accident and that it was nothing serious. I also told her that you stayed here the night and will be back for dinner this evening."

Terry gulps and breathes again. He is comforted to know that she is alright and that it was all just a savage illusion. Though the shock of being confronted with that kind of horror will stay with him for a while to come. "Thanks, Bruce."

"Terry, what exactly did you see in the Scarecrow's simulator?" Bruce pretends to type, as so it doesn't seem he's not making a big deal over it. This is standard behavior in the boys only club.

"I saw a lot of things," says Terry. "It's like my whole life was turned upside down. And it wasn't just the big stuff… it was everything. Now that I'm out of it, I kind of have doubts about some things…"

This caught Bruce's concern. "Doubts about _what_ things?"

"Well… about being Batman for one thing." There is silence between the two. "I know you became Batman when your folks died, Bruce, and when my father was murdered I probably felt the same as you did years ago. I wanted justice for what was done. Now, in retrospect, it just seems like a tragic mistake…"

Bruce finds himself getting mad at this. His fist clenches tightly until his fingers turn white, though he does not openly express it. "How is it a mistake?"

"It just seems that where there's death and carnage, there's also the Batman. It's a melancholy lifestyle… and that's no way to choose to live. I just… don't know anymore."

"Do you really think that _I_ would trade my parent's lives for the sake of being Batman?" Terry is surprised by this open and honest confession. "Let me tell you something, McGuiness. You are now Batman because you _chose_ to be. You faced a great tragedy, and now it hurts. There is a hole in your life. I know. For me, I had to fill it by being Batman. What you do is your choice. Either way, there is a hole in yourself that you need to fill somehow."

"You're right," he says. "You're exactly right. I've faced my fears. I know I have people I need to protect. I know that I don't want this thoughtless mayhem to continue, and I could never sleep at night knowing that I could have done something. I was too late for my father, I won't be too late for everyone else."

Bruce listens as the young man renews his vows. Inside he is secretly proud, though he would never admit it. "Does that mean you're still going to face the Scarecrow?"

"Nothing's going to stop me. Not with what he has in plan for all of Gotham." Terry stands and wipes a brave tear from his eye. "The trouble is we don't know where he has disappeared to."

"I've been doing some checking on Nathan Hall's past exploits." With the press of a button a number of documents appear before him on the giant monitor. "For a short while his company provided electronics to the city for the sake of public advancement."

"Which tells us… what?" Terry looks over the files but can see nothing outstanding.

"In this time he was providing technological upgrades to community broadcasting facility in the mountains." Terry nods, though still doesn't see the connection. "If he were to have access to this particular facility, he could use it to spread his subliminal message of chaos, resulting in widespread insanity."

"I knew that," Terry lies. "So you're saying that he can simply do this through television instead of a heavy VR set?"

"The VR set was just part of a controlled experiment," he is told. "The arcade was just a human petrii dish if you will, and the patrons were unwilling participants."

"Nice analogy," Terry remarks with some sense of sarcasm. At least he's slowly getting his sense of humor back. "What makes you so sure he'll strike tonight?"

"He'll have to." Bruce turns back to his work. "The longer the time he takes the higher the risk of getting caught. This Scarecrow seems intent on getting the job done, and quickly."

"Then we'd better get to work," says Terry donning the black mask. Once more he is remade into the image of the Batman, champion of all Gotham City.

"Are you sure you're up for it?"

Batman looks at his shaking hands and nods uneasily. "It's my job, Bruce. It's what I promised that I would do, no matter what. I'm sure nothing like this ever stopped you in your golden years."

He smiles to his protégé, knowing what he says to be true. "Good luck."

* * * *

Gotham City. From up here it's almost beautiful in a dark deco way. Even as times change the spirit of this place did not. It has a rich, dark history for those who live well with honest lives and decent ways to the seedy underbelly of crime and corruption. Chances are this city will be this way for all of time to come.

Though Nathan Hall has no time to admire the view. For all hours of the day he has been toiling long and hard striving to connect his fear-inducing machine to a large transmitter placed very openly in the middle of Gotham's mountain area. With this his name will go down in history. With this he'll show them all.

All he's known in life is fear. He was afraid he was never good enough for any girls, afraid he wasn't tough enough or cool enough to hang with the jocks, afraid of being an outsided dweeb. He was afraid of being a loser his entire life without ever having a chance to better himself.

At night he would shiver, cold and lonely, stretching out for a hand that was not there. Sometimes he was even afraid of being the only person 'alive'. Try as he might to fix this he was met only with rejection. The girls laughed at him, or said 'why can't we be friends?' The guys would just taunt and push him further and further away, despite how much they would say they are friends.

One day he decided that he didn't need people anymore. He kept to himself and set out to accomplish his goals all by himself. With this new drive he achieved much, and with these new accomplishments under his belt he graduated as a valedictorian, then went on to study computer science and psychology part time.

That's where he met Professor Jonathan Crane. That's where it was all made clear. He can remember the doctor's words as he shook and shuttered. "They say there is nothing to fear but fear itself. If this is the case then you must _become_ fear itself. Then, logically, all who know fear will fear you."

Months passed, and every night he considered these words before drifting away into his nightmares. It would take some time before realizing their full meaning, but when they did the nightmares stopped and he was in total control.

Later, he opened a hip, hot arcade and nightclub, which became the place to be of all the Gotham nightspots. From this he made a lot of money, met a lot of beautiful women and watched as the people lapped it all up. They say the best revenge is living well, though this was never good enough for Nathan.

Like the Scarecrow he strived to strike fear into the hearts of all his victims, one by one. By using signals in the VR sets nobody would ever know. Though even then it was never enough. Picking at children was far too easy, but he wanted the whole city to pay.

That is why he is here now. Nathan Hall, future criminal mastermind, master of fear.

* * * *

It is late and night has fallen. The Scarecrow stands openly on the roof under the broadcasting antenna with a black control pad in hand. He smells the air and the sweet taste of anticipation. In his mind he knows that tonight darkness will envelope Gotham City, and all it's inhabitants will fall into a nightmare from which they will never awaken.

The breeze is stiff and hard, beating his dreadlocks about and the branches on the side of the building. This is the perfect setting for his ultimate vengeance, with nature preparing to break out into a violent wind, as if it is a manifestation of Gotham's soul. He smiles under his metallic skull mask, knowing its hero has been defeated and that there is nothing left to stop him.

"Farewell, sweet Gotham," he chuckles. "From Hell's heart I stabbeth thee."

Suddenly, a whirring noise makes itself known from the near distance. It doesn't sound like the wind, or any of his machines. Looking about he can see nothing, until he can see a black object circling the general vacinity of the area. It is the Batmobile.

"So, the Dark Knight isn't dead after all." The Scarecrow raises his metal gauntlet and his faithful mechanical bird perches on it. He orders it clearly, "Steelbeak, seek and destroy. Go!"

The Batmobile flies away seeing the bogey on it's tail. The Scarecrow turns back to his work thinking that he has the Dark Knight distracted for a while, but hurries knowing that this time he's coming back prepared. Swiftly he connects more cables and wiring, flicks more switches and all other things in desperation to gain optimum amplification of his deadly signal.

Sparks shower out everywhere when a random batarang flies into the work, causing the Scarecrow to double over. The Batman materializes from thin air. "Surprised to see me, Hall?"

"Ah, yes," he says brushing himself off. "I knew you'd probably escape my little death trap, though I wager that you'd still be feeling most of the effects from the ordeal I sent you through. I trust that you are somewhat weaker than when we last went hand-to-hand."

"I'm strong enough to beat you," the Batman spits, "and bring you to justice."

"How very quaint." The Scarecrow laughs and turns away ignoring his adversary. For a moment he pauses only to ask, "Why not tell me about your fears? I'm ever so curious as to what skeletons lie in the Batman's closet…"

"Enough of this." The Dark Knight fires his thrusters, storming his foe and knocking him to his knees from behind. The controller slips from his hand and slides into the bush down below. "I won't let you bring your fear broadcast to this city."

"You're too late," he says standing up again as if never struck. "The broadcast started ten minutes ago. It shouldn't be too long now before we can see the carnage unfold."

"Monster! I'll…" The ground begins to become unstable, as if melting into vertigo. Before his eyes Terry can see his mother and brother standing between him and the Scarecrow. "Oh no, not again…"

"What do you see?" enquires the Scarecrow. When he does not answer the rogue bounds forward and smacks him to the floor. "Tell me, what do you see!? Do you know what is real anymore? Have your nightmares been biding their time, plotting greater torture for you? Hmmm?"

"Terry," growls Bruce. "What's going on out there?"

Batman writhes about. His senses are warped and left and right elude him. Even as the Scarecrow kicks him he cannot tell where the blows land, only that they are sharp and hard. One by one he manages to plant his feet on the ground, though he is easily brought drown by the waiting Scarecrow with his fists clasped together.

Bruce slams his hands onto the console. He shouldn't have let him go. Not in this condition. "Terry, get up! You can't take much more of this!"

The Dark Knight curls into a fetal position and submissively takes hits from his enemy. He knows now going into the field was a huge mistake. Now his heart tells him that he has no choice by to wait for death to come.

"Terry, I know you're scared," Bruce tells him softly, "but you have to get up. You're letting his programming win. If the Scarecrow wins all of Gotham is lost. You have to fight him or else you've already lost…"

From the ground he looks up to see the Scarecrow's dark visage standing over him, mocking him. He can feel the warm taste of the blood trickling from his lips and the burning inside his chest. Through the pain he tries to focus and listen to Bruce's words. Now they are just faint cries in the background.

All is lost. Gotham City is doomed, all because he is too afraid to even act.

The Scarecrow kneels down and laughs like a mad Joker on a crime spree. It is so wrong to see control of this city go to such a madman. Though what can he do? The burning in his heart for justice, the need to do what needs to be done… it is gone, swallowed by fear itself.

"How does it feel, Batman?" The Scarecrow cackles some more. "Do you feel alive? You're fully aware, aren't you? I'll bet you want it all to end…"

Again the distinct whirring of the Batmobile's engine is heard nearby. The stealthy vehicle charges boldly over the surrounding woodland, still with the destroyer close in tail. The Scarecrow screams realizing its collision course: the broadcast tower.

He watches helplessly as the Batmobile roars by it, leaving Steelbeak to fly directly into the line of fire. From its bottom deploys a pair of miniature smart missile, careering with the tower and exploding with a raging fire. Now the tower is weak, and is barely holding together.

The Scarecrow howls into the night. All those years, all that planning, all of it for naught. The only revenge he has left to extract is on the pitiful excuse for a human being lying before him: the once great Batman.

"You killed my dream, Batman," he hisses. "Now I'm going to kill you."

Another vision of pure evil appears before Terry's eyes. In a world without Batman people like him would reign supreme. In this world there would be no hope. In this world his mother and his brother would soon join him in a shallow grave.

"NO!" The Batman cries out with tears in his eyes. In a rage of lunacy and desperation he dive-bombs the Scarecrow head on, leveling him to his back. Blind to any sense of reason the Dark Knight just pounds his fists across the face of evil, socking him time and time again.

Bruce watches as Terry passionately takes out his fury on the now unconscious foe. He knows that the young man has been through a lot, though any more and the Scarecrow will probably be killed. "That's enough, Terry. It's over now."

Batman stops. His fist is still raised over his head still anxious to continue the beating, though inside he knows his mentor is right. It's all over.

He pulls away his enemy's mask to reveal the bruised and bleeding face of Nathan Hall. He spits on him and says, "I know you only became fear to hide the fact that you are afraid. I know the truth, and now you will be afraid of me."

Above, the flaming tower still teeters on the verge of collapse. Responsibly but begrudgingly he drags the Scarecrow away from any danger. The day has been won and any death will accomplish nothing.

In the distance the wail of police sirens can be heard, though once again they are too late.

* * * *

Terry stops the limousine on a small rise where a grass clearing stretches out before the city's edge. He lets out his boss, Mr. Wayne, and the two of them stand together, just watching time pass by. For a moment they are serene.

"There's something I've been meaning to confess," admits Bruce still looking to the horizon.

"Oh?" Terry looks at him curiously. "And what might that be?"

Bruce clears his throat with a cough. "Years ago I had my own fears. I would put on the mask of Batman and venture into the night. Sometimes I would wonder if I was losing my sanity, as if I were becoming more like the criminals I fought."

"Then what happened?" Bruce turns and smiles, staring at Terry so that he would remember what he says next.

"I realized that I was afraid, and that fear in my life needed to be conquered. That is what fear is in our hearts for. Partly to warn us, guide us, to give us boundaries. Other times it is to be overcome so that it might make us stronger. I chose to go at odds with my fears every time I put on the cape and cowl. Though while I chose to overcome it, the madmen I fought chose to descend into it, to be engulfed by it. That, in my opinion, is what sets us apart."

Terry considers this for a moment. "That was very profound."

"Was it a bit much?"

Terry smiles. "Just a little, but I'll let it slide this time."

With that said Terry helps Bruce back into the car then proceeds to drive him home. This time both of them have learned to respect fear, though not to fear it, and for the experience the two of them alone are stronger than ever before.

* * * *

****

THE END


End file.
